


tides

by slow-smiles (the_irish_mayhem)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Belle Gets Her Agency Back, Gen, Pre-Canon, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:51:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_irish_mayhem/pseuds/slow-smiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“That is why we have books,” Colette said, leaving behind the sad smiles. “Because they paint us a picture of something that we would never see without them.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>An origin of the Princess Belle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tides

**Author's Note:**

> Ignores some of the canon set forth in S4.

Belle’s mother had this affinity for maps. Colette collected every single map she could get her hands on--maps from the finest cartographers their kingdom had to offer, all the way down to those painstakingly scrawled by the lowly sailors who spent their idle time mapping the shorelines. The latter were the ones Colette liked the best.

“They have such character,” she would say, running her fingers lovingly along the painstakingly inked lines. “The royal map makers would never include warnings for mermaids,” she pointed, “nor that Galdenport is home to the world’s finest bakery,” she finished, smiling at her daughter. “There are so many things to see. So many things that we’ll never have hope to see them all.” She would smile sadly then, almost forlorn. “That is why we have books,” she said, leaving behind the sad smiles. “Because they paint us a picture of something that we would never see without them.”

 

 

Belle always thought her mother had this energy that couldn’t be contained, like she was positively bursting from the seams. Belle couldn’t remember a time when she was happier than when she was with her mother, whether it was reading together or greeting foreign dignitaries in the throne room. Her beauty was touted throughout the land, and while Belle agreed, it was her mother’s smile and wit that warmed her.

Sometimes Belle caught her, though. When she thought she was alone, sometimes reading by her favorite fireplace, or gazing out the large, plate glass window that overlooked the forest and on clear days could give a view of the ocean, Colette would get this--this look on her face. Belle didn’t know how to describe it. It was like exquisite agony, hope and despair wrapped into one.

Colette never mentioned these spells to her. When Belle interrupted them, she’d lose it, become radiant as the sun as though a lamp hand been lit beneath her skin. It was strange to see how she could do that.

Belle didn’t know what her mother hid from her, then. It fell to the back of her mind, like many things did when she was young.

Later, she would start to see the cracks. Would start to see the light beneath Colette’s skin flicker. It was disconcerting, but Belle supposed that this was what happened when you grew up. Your parents descended from infallibility and became human. She didn’t know if she was happy about that or not.

 

 

It wasn’t long before the Second Ogre War started that Belle was seeking out her mother in her chambers. She’d found a fascinating book on the top shelves of their library, and she desperately wished to share it. It was a book about the ocean’s tides, about the myths connected to them--how they were at the beck and call of the Moon, who had claimed them from the tempestuous sea Goddess Ursula.

_Let the sea live, plead Ursula. Do not entrap her waters inside your purview._

_It must be, answered the Moon sagely. It is how it must be._

_But she is the sea, Ursula said. She must be free._

_The Goddess Moon smiled sadly. I do what I must. I do not relish taking the sea from you, daughter of the waters._

_Then do not take them from me, Ursula plead._

_The Moon answered, The waters were never meant to be yours._

With the aging, leather-backed tome under her arm, she heard sounds coming from behind her parents’ door. It was open just a crack, just enough to see inside. Belle’s smile fell.

Colette’s eyes were filled with tears. Belle had never seen her mother cry before. Her delicate shoulders trembled, and she’d never seemed delicate before. Maurice stood before her, his back to the door.

“Colette, you must be strong for the kingdom’s sake--”

She laughed, harshly, and it grated against Belle’s ears. Who was this person in her mother’s skin? “Of course. For the kingdom’s sake. Let go of myself for the kingdom.”

“You agreed upon the marriage, wife. Your family was the one who proposed the match.”

“They did. I didn’t.”

“We’ve had this discussion.”

“I thought I was making the right choice then. I was young, stupid. Thought that a chance to become queen would allow me to do good for my people. Thought that it would allow me to see the land in a way I wouldn’t have been able to before. Instead, we try fruitlessly to prevent war, amass armies of children and old men to fight bloody battles. We never travel outside our kingdom anymore, and when we did it was to walled castles and guarded weddings.”

“To forsake your crown is treason, Colette.”

“Which is why I will not forsake my crown, Maurice. It is a gilded cage, but I threw out the key the moment I married you.”

“Then why do you wallow in such despair?”

Colette closed her eyes then. “My fate is not my own. I let others take it from me, and I will forever regret that. What I do not regret is my wonderful daughter. Without her, I would not have ample reason to rouse myself at the beginning of the day. Books and maps can only offer me so much escape.”

“I’m sorry,” Maurice offered fruitlessly.

Colette only nodded, still so delicate. There was no fire beneath her skin. “As am I.”

Belle turned away from the door, fleeing as quietly as she possibly could back to the library.

 

 

She never forgot that. Even as her mother began to wither away with illness, she never looked so fragile as she had that day in her chambers. Perhaps it was because she tried to hard to smile while Belle was with her. Perhaps it was because Belle was always bringing new books and maps to share with her mother as Colette’s arms grew thinner.

Her mother died in the middle of the Ogre War. Somehow, Belle felt terrible mourning because her mother had passed away peacefully in her sleep, surrounded by people she loved, while soldier after soldier was ripped to shreds in the war that raged beyond the castle walls.

Normally, when royalty died, there was a large funeral service, and the kingdom observed a period of mourning. But they were in the middle of war; the kingdom was always mourning, and the funeral was small because no dignitary would risk travelling. It was the dead of winter, and the ground was too frozen to bury her. She would have a headstone once the earth thawed.

They didn’t scatter her mother’s ashes. Maurice had wanted to, but Belle kept the urn in the library, surrounded by the books and maps. She thought that’s where her mother would’ve wanted to be if she couldn’t be everywhere she had wanted to go.

 

 

She wasn’t allowed in the war council, but their guards kept her well-informed. They were taking heavy casualties, but they were winning. The Ogres were falling back, and the kingdom felt the noose begin to loosen.

So ended the Second Ogre War.

 

 

A year passed. Then two. Three.

Belle became more involved in the politics of her court. She would take the throne someday, and she had to be ready. Foreign diplomats and dignitaries had to know her face, get to know her political leanings.

She learned she had a keen sense for negotiation. Maurice informed her in the quiet of her chambers after a ball that many of his guests had told him that they were very impressed by her.

“Your mother would be so proud,” he told her sincerely.

Belle smiled. She liked the sentiment, but wondered about its accuracy.

 

 

With any royal bloodline, there had to be heirs. Gaston was the means to procure them.

And really, she didn’t try to connect with him beyond that. It was clear from a political standpoint that he was the obvious choice--he was from a wealthy kingdom, was far enough from his throne to not threaten her position as immediate heir, but still had his kingdom’s vast military assets at his disposal. She supposed he was handsome enough. Well-versed in court etiquette. Well-educated in both politics and military tactics. Didn’t appear to be maliciously intent on her throne.

Everything that she should want.

It was the right decision. He would be a good king and a good husband.

Somehow, that was not enough, and she understood those words her mother had used all those years ago.  _It is a gilded cage, and I threw out the key._

When she agreed to the marriage proposal, she could feel the bars sliding into place one by one.

 

 

She didn’t spend nearly as much time with Gaston as she should have. If the man was to be her husband, she would at least have to try to tolerate his presence. They had to give her bloodline heirs, after all.

It didn’t stop her from avoiding him at all costs. She didn’t precisely know why, but all she did know was that the closer she was to him, the more she felt suffocated by the prospect of marrying him and shackling herself to her throne, ignoring the feeling she didn’t acknowledge that she was meant for something else--something more.

One of those days, where she was stepping around Gaston and her father (because she couldn’t handle the look in his eye when she avoided her betrothed, couldn’t reconcile the look there with the tears she still remembered on her mother’s face.  _It is a gilded cage, and I threw out the key._ ) she finally took her mother’s urn from the library and snuck out of the castle.

She kept her head down and hood up even though the road to the sea was deserted. She stroked her fingers carefully over the intricate designs on the urn’s surface. Maurice had let Belle have free reign over what it would look like, and she had given the craftsmen her mother’s favorite map to engrave on the surface. The one with the mermaid warnings and the marker for the Galdenport bakery.

When she reached the ocean, the sand crushing delicately beneath her feet, she felt a tightness in her throat.

“I’ve wanted to do this for you for so long,” Belle whispered quietly. “But I didn’t want…”

Her mother was always a fixture in the library, even after she’d passed. It was the end of an era, and there was a pit in Belle’s stomach at the thought.

She opened the urn, removed her shoes, and lifted her skirts. She waded as deep as her heavy dress would allow. The heavy pull of the waves nearly made her stumble, but she was determined. “I came--” she started, her words catching in her throat. “I came while the tide was going out. I remember reading about the tides with you, and how the tides will drag everything out to sea.” She holds the urn closer. “I didn’t want you to be trapped on land by the waves.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears when she finally turned the urn, her mother’s ashes falling in a cloud to the water below. The waves dragged in and out, and Belle watched as the ashes dissipated. Then she watched a little longer, watched as the water receded from her legs until the waves just barely tickled her toes.

She hoped her mother was finally free.

 

 

So when Rumplestiltsken appears in their throne room, it feels a lot less like a sacrifice when she offers herself to go with him and more like she finally found the key her mother had thrown away all those years ago.


End file.
